The Princess Search: A Retelling of The Ugly Duckling (The Four Kingdoms Book 5)

by Melanie Cellier

  I swallowed twice and gripped my reins until my knuckles turned white. Celine, still beside me, gasped and then drew a deep steadying breath. I forced myself to survey the town, refusing to turn my eyes away. Bearing witness was the least I could do after what these people had been through and what still lay before them.

  Collapsed buildings and blackened debris forced the many people moving through the town to tread slowly and carefully. Here and there a small spot of orange drew the eye, but with no fuel left to burn, these spots were small and far between. Most of the people seemed to be picking through the remains of the structures, but a few carried motionless burdens that brought tears to my eyes.

  A large group of people, mostly consisting of the young and the elderly, gathered in a clearing outside what must once have been the gates. A row of figures lay on the ground along the line of what had been the wall, their faces covered with handkerchiefs or jackets. There weren’t even any sheets left to cover their dead.

  A cry went up from within the burned town and people converged around it. A man riding near the front of our columns spurred his horse forward until he reached the collapsed wall. Jumping down, he abandoned his mount to the youngsters there and sprinted into the ash.

  “One of the royal doctors,” murmured Celine. “He is accompanying the Tour in case of accident or illness.”

  By the time the main columns reached the edge of the town, he was overseeing several people who carefully carried a woman between them.

  “She will live,” one of them called wearily, and a sigh of relief blew through the gathered townsfolk. They looked as if any more bad news might knock them down. And, once down, they might never rise again.

  I shook off the dark thoughts. No. These people were stronger than that. They had been knocked down by life, but they would rise from the ashes. Literally. I surveyed the town again, and some of my attempted optimism died. But I reminded myself that it had come true for me. All those times I had used the same line on myself, and now here I was, riding with royalty. If I could do it, the citizens of Medellan could do it, too.

  Most of the older nobles in the carriages remained in place, but the riders swung down and made their way through the stunned townsfolk. Three wagons pulled up, and servants and guards alike began to dispense blankets and skins of water. I saw some of the remaining oat cakes being passed around and hoped the wagons of food would arrive soon. These people needed something more substantial than trail fare.

  I stayed in my saddle, sure I would only be in the way on the ground, and watched the three royals drift through the crowds: comforting, reassuring, and pledging the support of the crown. Everywhere they went, hands reached to grasp theirs, muted thanks spoken softly or conveyed with a look. Many gazes lingered on Frederic, as did mine. The air of command I had first noticed in my shop was even more palpable here. His naturally serious demeanor fit the occasion, and the solid conviction of his tone brought reassurance to the people that their monarchs had not forgotten them. They would remember it when he was crowned, I would wager.

  A bitter tone—softly spoken but hard and out of place with the rest of the scene—caught my attention, and I swung my horse around to find the source. A sizable group of townsfolk stood slightly apart from the rest. Some had blankets draped around their shoulders, and others carried oat cakes, but I saw no palace folk among them. I edged my horse closer and focused my attention on the man who spoke.

  “Kind words are all very well,” he said, his voice pitched just loud enough for this group to hear, “but where were the royals when our town burned? And where will they be tomorrow or in the months to come when winter returns? We pay our taxes, but for what?”

  Some looked uncomfortable at his words, but many others nodded, the anger burning in their eyes. I knew that look. They were filled with grief and rage and despair, and they wanted somewhere more satisfying to direct it than the impartial, uncaring flames.

  I looked back over my shoulder at the members of the Tour who still circulated among the other townsfolk, my eyes catching on Celine who held an infant in her arms, tears running down her cheeks. Without thinking it through, I pushed my mount forward into the middle of the angry group.

  “Shame on you,” I said, meeting as many eyes as I could. “Whose blankets are around your shoulders? Who gave you the food in your hands and mouths?”

  Some looked away, unwilling to meet my gaze, before slinking off to rejoin the main group. Others looked away but stayed in place, and still others looked back at me defiantly.

  “And who might you be, Mistress, who take such a fine interest in our affairs?” asked the original speaker, measuring me with a mocking look.

  I ignored his question and continued to focus my attention on his audience. “How could the royals have stopped the flames, do you think? And tell me, if you hadn’t paid those taxes, would that extra gold in your homes have held back the heat? Your houses have been gone mere hours, and already the royals are here in person to offer you help and promise you future support. If you are too grieved for gratitude, you can at least offer them your silence and cease this treasonous talk.”

  I gazed down at them from the extra height my horse gave me, pleased to see that the only one who would now meet my eyes nodded to let me know he accepted the truth of my words before disappearing back toward the town. One by one, or in groups of two or three, the others followed him, until only the speaker remained. He watched me with narrowed eyes for an extra moment and then disappeared into the crowd himself.

  I sighed. I could not blame these people, fresh in grief as they were. But I did wish I had heard the speaker’s name, at least. Celine had mentioned whispers of a new rebellion, and Cassian had believed them to be isolated to the south. Should I tell them what I had overheard? Or would they overreact and bring further grief to these people?

  I considered the question as I finally dismounted at the request of the groom who had been assigned to care for my mount. As he led her away, I turned to wander through the people. Many of them wore nightclothes, and only half had shoes. As I walked, a thought came to me, and I directed my path toward the supply wagons that had been sent with us before dawn. Peeking into the one that had held the blankets, I smiled for the first time since I had smelled Medellan on the breeze.

  I ran my hand along the inside, my fingers lingering on the contents, and then I hurried further down the line looking for the wagon that held the personal supplies of the Tour participants. There turned out to be several, but after some searching, I located the one that held my belongings. Rummaging through it, I produced a small bag, which I tucked under my arm.

  Returning to the group of bereft townsfolk, I began to walk among them, my eyes assessing each of the older girls with special attention to their fingers. Whenever I spotted what I was looking for, I tapped the girl on the shoulder and directed her to follow me. Not one raised a protest, and I soon had a string of youngsters behind me. Many of the older women seemed occupied with the care of the children, but any that stood idle were added to my string. When I had counted out the precise number that I needed, I began to issue further directions.

  “Oh, there you are, Evie…” Frederic stopped and regarded us with astonishment.

  I had set my team up in a nook between several wagons where we would not be disturbed, and we had been hard at work for most of the day. I snipped a thread neatly and climbed to my feet.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness, were you looking for me?”

  “Frederic, remember?” he said absently, his eyes still on my assistants. “What are you doing back here?” He paused. “Are those blankets?”

  “Not anymore,” I said proudly. Several of the younger girls smiled shyly at the prince, the haunted look in their eyes having abated somewhat now that they had a way to be useful.

  “The sewing is rough, I’m afraid, but the wool is good quality, and the clothes will be hardy. I just hope the good people of Medellan like gray.”

  Several of t
he older girls scrunched up their noses, but the elders shook their heads. “It will wear well,” one of them said, “and that’s what’s important. We’ve plenty of hard work ahead of us before we’ll have use of party finery.”

  The girls ducked their heads as if cowed, but I noticed several of them exchanging wry smiles. Frederic drew me away from the others.

  “I just wish I’d brought more needles,” I said as I followed him. “But it never occurred to me that I would have need of so many. Thankfully most town girls are taught at least some proficiency, and the fingers of the most experienced always give them away. I—” I stopped abruptly and looked up at Frederic, a sudden worry filling my mind. “I checked with the steward, Your Highness, and he said all the blankets were for the use of the townsfolk. The guards had already handed them out to anyone who wanted one, and with the weather so mild at the moment, I figured they had more use for clothes than…”

  “It’s Frederic,” he said, halting my flow of words. “And you are perfectly in the right.” He frowned. “I just wish we had such a simple way to produce shoes for them all. I don’t see how they are to clear the ground of debris and raise new buildings bare foot.” He shook his head and looked down at me. “But none of that is your problem. You are already doing far more than I could have hoped for and proving once again that my little sister is right. Not yet a full day, and you are showing your value.”

  I flushed and dropped my eyes away from his face. They fastened instead on his shoulders and chest, and I almost smiled at how well his clothes fit his broad frame. Their line looked regal and elegant but had obviously stood up to a day of harder work than any of us had anticipated. My night’s labor had been well worth it.

  I frowned at the new soot stains and hoped the Tour’s washerwomen could get them out.

  “Evie,” he said, and I looked back up, reminded he had come looking for me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, dismayed that I had been neglecting my primary duty. “Did you need me for your own clothes? I hadn’t even thought, but you can hardly wear that again tomorrow.”

  “Stop,” he said firmly, holding my gaze with his. “I don’t need fashionable garments for breaking down fire damaged walls or caring for those with smoke sickness. I can wear one of my old outfits tomorrow.”

  He shook his head. “I came looking for you to ask if you could discuss ideas with the town mayor’s wife for replacing some of the burned clothing. And here I find you’re already halfway toward solving the problem yourself.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thank you, but you’re being far too complimentary. Even with so many assistants and keeping the clothes as simple as possible, we’re far from clothing half of the townsfolk.”

  “Some managed to grab a few items on their way out, and most who managed to do so have agreed to share with their less fortunate neighbors.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Some hadn’t agreed? I almost felt sorry for them. I had lived in enough communities to know that some things were universal. Anyone who refused to share in such a situation was likely to find their position within the group in peril.

  “Yes,” said Frederic wryly, apparently reading the unspoken thought on my face, “perhaps they’ll change their minds in time. For now, will your assistants be all right without you? I would appreciate it if you could come and talk to the mayor’s wife, anyway. She will be able to help you best distribute your new creations.”

  I nodded and, after a few words to my team, followed him. My legs welcomed the stretch after spending so long hunched over cloth, and the sight in front of me told me how many hours had passed while I worked. The confused mass of people had disappeared to be replaced by a semblance of industry and order. A small city of tents had sprung up in the fields around the town, and several large fires wafted delicious smells around this new camp. My nose turned toward one of them, my stomach growling in response, and Frederic immediately waved down a passing servant.

  “Have someone deliver warm meals to the workers sewing behind that wagon,” he directed, pointing back toward my assistants. “And then have someone deliver a plate to Mistress Evangeline.”

  “Certainly, Your Highness,” said the servant with a bobbed curtsy before disappearing.

  We resumed walking while I observed the prince out of the corner of my eye. He took his responsibilities seriously, and I admired that in him. I could not fault his treatment of me in even the smallest way. And his somber air befitted this situation. I just wished I had heard him laugh. Not now, of course, but previously. He didn’t look like the sort of person who spent enough time laughing, a strange thing for someone who had spent most of their life with the dramatic Celine.

  My contemplation was interrupted by our arrival at the tent of the mayor and his wife, and Frederic took his leave as soon as he had handed me over. The mayor’s wife was unexpectedly young and pretty, but any reservations about her fitness for such a role soon disappeared. She seemed wise beyond her years, and her energy would be needed for the long road ahead.

  Between us we had soon dispersed all of the clothes already crafted and allocated as many again from our anticipated next day’s work. I dismissed my team to a well-deserved rest and was just wondering where I would be sleeping when I noticed a small figure following me.

  I stopped and turned, placing my hands on my hips and raising one eyebrow. “And what are you wanting, young master?”

  The short lad grinned at me. “I’m no master, and I reckon you know that. I been watching you, and you seem a knowing one.”

  His face looked familiar, and after a moment I placed him from his clothing. He had been the recipient of one of the outfits we had made, and he had sorely needed it, though his original garments had appeared to be clothes—of a sort—rather than a nightshirt. My estimation of the mayor’s wife had risen when she used the opportunity to re-clothe an obvious street urchin.

  “I never had new clothes before.”

  I smiled. “I’m only sorry I didn’t have the time to fit them properly for you.”

  “Naw.” He smiled charmingly. “Fitted clothes aren’t for the likes of me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone deserves at least one set of new, well-fitted clothes.” It was this belief that had first driven me to pick up a needle at a young age. Without my own efforts, I would likely never have had clothes that fit.

  The boy shook his head. “You have some funny ideas, miss, but you seem like one of the right sort.”

  “The right sort?” I shifted uncomfortably. What exactly had he seen while he was watching me?

  He rocked back and forth on his heels as if gathering his courage. “I heard what you said to them people before.”

  “Which people?”

  “The ones who were complaining. When you lot first arrived.”

  Those people. My eyes narrowed. If that was what he meant, perhaps he hadn’t seen what I feared.

  “And I saw you earlier with the prince. He gave me an oat cake with his own hand.” He shook his head again. “Well, it seemed to me that you grand folk might be interested in what I saw.”

  Grand folk. If that was what he thought of me, I was surprised he had come to me at all. He shifted on his feet, watching me with wary eyes, and I wondered if he intended to bolt without sharing his information with me after all. I bit my lip. If he had approached me, it must be important. More important than my desire to keep my past to myself.

  “I like to walk the streets at night,” he said in response to my look of inquiry. A defensive edge entered his voice. “It’s safest to be on the move, plus I like the quiet.”

  He paused, apparently reconsidering continuing. I drew a deep breath and crossed both arms across my chest, fists clenched. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  His eyes widened, and a slow grin spread across his face as he returned the universal street urchin salute. “I knew you were a right one! Wouldn’t have picked you for one of us, though.”

  “I’m not,” I said quickly. “No
t exactly, anyway.”

  “But you once were.” It wasn’t a question.

  I shook my head. “Not exactly.”

  He grinned again and shook his head. “Full-sizers. You can never give a straight answer when you could give a round about one instead.”

  I rolled my eyes, but offered no further clarification, unwilling to go into my full past with this stranger. “So tell me, what did you see?”

  He frowned. “Normally my nighttime walks be real peaceful like. It wasn’t peaceful last night, though. Not once someone started ringing the fire alarm bell. Really going at it, he was. He rang the tempo to get the whole town up. For a raging fire out of control. Which was a funny thing.”

  He paused again, so I prompted him. “Funny how? It was a raging fire, sure enough.”

  “Aye, but not at that point it weren’t. I hadn’t even smelled any smoke yet. Not a whiff in all my strolls. Nor seen no flames neither. But the people started pouring out the doors, of course, and it must have been seconds later and the whole place was ablaze. Every building in the town.”

  He shifted on his feet. “And it seemed to me that maybe no one got a real good look at whoever it was rang the bell. They were all too busy running for their lives at that point. ’Cept for me.” He chuckled darkly. “I ran for my life, too, o’course. But I was just around the corner when the bell started, and I took off sprinting toward it, I can tell you. I got a good look at the man. Hadn’t seen him before which struck me as odd. But I seen him since. He was the man you stared down earlier. And a right good job you did, too, miss.”

  I blinked several times, struggling to get my head around his revelations. Had he just suggested the fire had been planned in some way?